Thursday, February 21, 2013


                                                                      Film: Victim
                                              Director: Matt Eskandari, Michael A. Pierce
                                                                       Year. 2010
                                                          Review by: Vincent Daemon

Well, our 100th post here at Gorehound Mike's Weird Cinema is this absolutely deplorable hunk of wasted celluoid. Actually, I would imagine it was filmed in digital and blahblahblah so I guess wasted giga-mega something, as opposed to celluoid. Anything not to have to remember watching this. And it's entirely my own fault, I can't blame Gorehound Mike for this one. I chose to watch this. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The film opens shakey-cam p.o.v. style, the camera leering on some ditzy looking blonde chick, while the creep holding speaks in a distorted voice, not entirely unlike the infamous director Khan Tusion of the ultimately creepy and vile Meatholes series of adult films. Eventually he beats her to a pulp, and presumabley kills her.

Cut to a male underwear model-looking creepster chump (we'll call him GQ) drinking in some nightclub. He goes outside to leave and gets bludgeoned and attacked, knocked out cold. He wakes up in some dungeon and proceeds the receive more beatings. After 15 minutes of this we find he is being held hostage by some crazy doctor and his weird henchman Mr. George, who was the spitting image of a severely bloated Jason Statham. GQ is never told why he is there. While he is caged, recordings from weird 1950's female ettiquette records drone on incessantly in the background.

At this point I'm thinking "well, at least it's not boring" then . . . nothing happens. 8 minutes in I had figured out where this drec was going, for the most part. Any hopes I had of this being any kind of entertaining at all were wildly, carelessly trashed as this degenerated into a Lifetime: Moment Of Truth flick with it's staid production, off screen violence, wretched acting, and the addition of some nonsense CSI-type plotline involving the police.

The film trundles on, every minute feeling like 5, as we find out the Doc's daughter was the blonde girl in the beginning, and he wants to turn GQ into a female, to replace his daughter. Huh? Yeah. So comes more boring monologue from the good Doctor, more beatings from Mr. George, and a sudden, raging turn to near twink porn as GQ struggles and begs whilst bathed in certain eroticized lightings. I watched this with a friend, and she made that particular comment out loud. Eventually there is the penis removal (unseen), wherein the only decent line of the film is uttered from the Doc to Georgie: "No no Georgie, we need that to form the vagina."  Then come breast implants (the only gore in the film, it was quite graphic in the most laughable karo blood-n-latex sense). Then the clothing. The Doc dresses his new daughter in just the worst blue Wal Mart 10 pack sundresses you could imagine. For fuck's sake I have better taste in womens clothes than that.

In the last 10 minutes the film tries to regain what it did in the first 5 minutes, going right for some kind of weird hyper-sexualized extremity with a series of piss poor, ineffective and ultimately tacky rape and abuse scenes. They did throw one minor twist in there, in the last few seconds, that I didn't see coming. Meh. I coulda cared less by that point.

Ignore this film. Do not watch it. Look for anything these directors or writers have been involved in and boycott it. I plead with you to not give these buffoons any reason to make another film.

I did leave the room at one point, and came back in, asked my friend what I missed. Her response: "I was busy eating Cheerios and not giving a fuck." That simplistic statement says it all. Go eat some Cheerios or something constructive. This film is worth not one fuck that it contains.

Stay Sick, thanks for reading,

Vincent Daemon

---- Vincent Daemon's short fiction has appeared in 25 publications, and he just put his first short story collection together, Bury Me In A Nameless Grave. He is also editor of the annual Grave Demand magazine, as well as a freelance editor for hire in his down time, and occasionally performs with various punk/deathrock bands. Vincent can be found on facebook, and at his blog The Writings Of A Depraved Mind , and contacted ---- 

No comments:

Post a Comment